Compromising Miss Tisdale (3 page)

“Uncle, you shouldn’t have.”

“Oh, but of course I should. You’ve been away too long.”

“No,” Duncan looked at him seriously, “you
shouldn’t
have.”

Then he stepped back and noticed Richard’s appearance. His jet-black hair had long since gone silver and he’d lost a bit of height over the years. His once handsome face had become gaunt and he was down more than a stone since he’d last laid eyes on him. His color was sallow, with deep purple rings under each of his eyes. “You’re not well,” he said solemnly.

Richard smiled. “No, I am not.”

“You should have told me to come sooner.” Duncan swallowed down a growing lump.

“I sent for you as soon as I found out.”

He looked around. “Well, obviously we have much to catch up on.”

“I’m sure the butler has notified Lady Montgomery of your arrival by now. Perhaps we can get you settled, then we may speak in private.”

Duncan nodded. “Yes, I suppose I would like to find my room, dress, and get something to warm me up a bit.”

Richard looked at him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It’s good to have you back.”

Duncan said nothing in return and proceeded to make his way up the stairs.

Ambrosia walked across the foyer with Amelia, who was vigorously sampling all fare passing by them on footmen’s servers. It was a bit past one in the morning, but the din of the crowd was still thick with the anticipated possibility of the prodigal Earl’s return. Though she couldn’t think of anything that excited her less than some scandal-ridden, second son’s appearance, she was pleased that for once the focus was not on her matrimonial status.

“Rumors about your Lord Bristol have certainly done their damage. I’ve never seen so many women gathered in a single location before. One could hardly blame me for not finding a single prospect tonight. By my rough estimates, it looks as if two thirds of the guests are female. The odds are stacked against me.”

Amelia abruptly turned to her. “Shoosh. Do keep your voice down! Men don’t want to hear a woman talking about figures and such.” She went on to bite off a rather large piece of tart she’d snagged. “That thing you do with numbers is hardly appropriate.”

“You mean arithmetic?” Ambrosia excelled at needlepoint, played the pianoforte with a lovely sense of musicality, and was most proficient in all skills expected of a lady. But her greatest and most favorite talent seemed to lie with numbers, a gift with unfortunate gender limitations. Besides assisting her father, Viscount Tisdale, review the occasional account or offer her expertise during card games, she found little use for abilities outside of calculating random statistics at parties.

Amelia glowered. “You’re exaggerating. There’s no possible way you were able to count all the guests.”

She decided against mentioning that she had found the time to count during the depressing lulls in her dance card. “I find the whole thing terribly unfair. It should be an even split, half men and half women. Really, how is one supposed to find a husband with such defeating numbers?”

“You’re sour.” Amelia took a bite of scone.

“I am
not
sour.” She was indeed, but not for the obvious reasons. As much as she tried to avoid it, her mind kept returning to the man in the library, recalling every moment of their encounter without flaw. She could still feel his bold gaze on her body, the intensity burning into her flesh-

“Lord Bristol!” Amelia exclaimed, coughing on bits of pastry.

Ambrosia followed Amelia’s wide-eyed gaping to the travertine stairs, where a man was making his way down. He was tall and impeccably dressed. His hair was black as ink and a bit too long by the day’s standards, but it suited him. His shoulders were broad and by the cut of his coat it was not difficult to see his physique was trim, but strong. She took quick inventory of the rest of him—full lips, straight nose, square jaw, brown eyes-

No, they were hazel and . . .

Ambrosia swallowed.

Audibly.

It was him.

From the study.

He
was the Earl of Bristol!

“Lady Middlebury? Yes, it is you!” He met them at the bottom of the stairs and placed a kiss upon Amelia’s gloved hand, which sent her into a fit of giggles. “I believe I might have taken advantage of your family’s hospitality once or twice. Where is your brother tonight? I was rather hoping to run into Kenning.” He flashed a debonair smile.

Amelia was blushing terribly and was too far consumed by nonsensical giggling to form actual words. Ambrosia thought it was a ridiculous show, but was unable to say anything herself since she was suddenly incapable of taking in a decent breath.

“Of course I remember you, scoundrel! James was touring the continent with his new wife, but he’s recently returned for the Season. I have no doubt you shall see him sooner, rather than later.” She gestured toward Ambrosia. “Forgive me for not introducing you to my friend. This is Miss Ambrosia Tisdale.”

He studied Ambrosia for a moment before speaking, as if he was articulating exactly what it was he wanted to say. “I believe we’ve already met,” he finally stated, the tenor of his voice daring her to contradict him.

Amelia jumped in to mend her gaffe. “Oh, I do apologize. I was under the impression that the two of you hadn’t met.”

Ambrosia forced a smile, her eyes not leaving his. “You must be mistaken, Lord Bristol. I don’t believe that we have been
properly
introduced.” She managed to speak a full sentence, despite the sudden dryness of her mouth. Amelia was a notorious gossip and she hardly needed him to discuss the details of their first meeting in front of her. If word of their initial meeting got out, she’d be ruined. And she had worked far too hard for that.

He tapped a finger against his chin as if giving the matter much thought. “No, I’m quite certain we’ve met before. Recently perhaps?”

“No, my Lord,” she disagreed through her forced smile and gritted teeth. “
I’m
quite certain we have not met. Recently or otherwise.”

“I think we have.”

“I’m
positive
we haven’t.”

“You look quite familiar.”

“Then you must be mistaken,” she said bluntly.
Mistaken
? Try cracked, addled, or mad.

“Are you
sure
?” he challenged, drawing out the last word. “You might not recognize me. My appearance is quite common and I’ve been confused with others on occasion. Common laborers even.”

Ambrosia clenched her fists at her sides. His appearance was anything but common, whether in soggy breeches and muddy Hessians, or a black waist coat and cravat. How could she have been so wrong in her judgment? This man exuded a sense of entitlement that would rival any member of the royal family.

“No. I do not recognize you. I am confident we have never met.” She was tired of the game and desperately wanted to move on. Where were her mother and hopeless marital prospects when she truly needed them?

Amelia nudged her friend in the side. “Ambrosia, how can you be certain that you haven’t met the Earl before? If he’s so sure that the two of you have indeed met, then perhaps you have -”

“He’s wrong!” she blurted. “We’ve never met.” Ambrosia had been going for a tone of indifference, but her objection may have come out a bit more harshly than intended. In fact, it was a shout.

Would-be spectators in the foyer grew quiet, becoming aware of the scene unfolding before them. She could feel her blush make its way up her bodice and around her neck.

He had won. His victorious smile indicated as much.

“On second thought,” he said for the benefit of the audience, “you may be right. I believe I might have confused you with someone else.”

Ambrosia nodded, trying to recover some semblance of dignity. “Of course. Perhaps you have me confused with one of my sisters.”

“Perhaps,” he mumbled as he directed his attention back to Amelia. “I do apologize, but my cousin has told me I am expected to make some sort of entrance. Lady Montgomery hates to be kept waiting.” He took Amelia’s hand and kissed it lightly. “I hope to see you and your brother again very soon.”

Without waiting for a response, he made his way out of the foyer, toward the ballroom. A gaggle of guests trailed shortly behind.

“Do you have a fever?” Amelia asked, once Lord Bristol was out of earshot.

“I don’t believe so,” she answered, taken aback by the sudden interest in her health.

“You must have a fever, because I can think of no other reason for your actions other than lunacy brought on by sudden illness.”

Ambrosia swallowed, pulled at her gloves and smoothed her hair. “I may have been a bit bold.”

“Bold? Is that what we’re calling insolence now? In the years since I’ve known you, I have never so much as heard you raise your voice, let alone scold a peer of the realm whom you’ve just met.”

Ambrosia took a deep breath. She had no excuse. He had taunted her with his words and she’d reacted poorly. She’d made a spectacle of herself—in public no less! It was hardly the behavior befitting a young lady and she hadn’t any idea what had come over her.

Well, she had a slight inclination. The Earl of Bristol had dared challenge her in ways she had never been before and something had sparked inside of her.

It was as if before this evening, her life had merely been a wick and suddenly she found herself aflame.

Chapter 4

As Duncan made his way down the corridor to meet his uncle, he found his mind wandering back to those brief moments spent in the library. Most ladies reeked of rose water or something similarly sweet, but this one wore the subtle scent of mint. It was different from anything he had smelled before and lingered heavy in the air long after she had gone.

He sighed. But that was all that had been different. If you got past those dark blue eyes and delectable fragrance, he was sure she was just like every other member of the
Ton
.

And those people were of no interest to him.

Richard was helping himself to the brandy when Duncan walked in. “Lady Montgomery has made you comfortable, I presume?” He poured himself another two fingers. “Would you care for any?” he asked, gesturing toward the crystal decanter.

Duncan nodded. “Yes, she’s always been most generous with Jason and myself. I can see why she was always mother’s dearest.”

Duncan took the contents of the glass in one swallow and held it out to be refilled, to which his uncle complied. “Why did you ask me to come?”

His uncle found a seat in a deep, leather high-backed chair. “It is the start of the social Season. I thought the new Earl of Bristol should make an appearance.”

“Liar.”

Richard snickered. “Not entirely.”

Duncan exhaled deeply. “Couldn’t you have met me up North at my home? Why did you feel the need to bring me back
here
, to London?”

“Is anything in particular bothering you, or do you simply have an aversion to civilization?”

Duncan snorted. “I would hardly call London civilized, at least not in the human sense. I was mistaken for a common laborer earlier by some chit with the oddest name.”

Richard thought for a moment. “Ahhh, yes. That must have been one of the Tisdales. Lovely girls, take after their mother. I know of their family-excellent stock. I believe there are four Tisdale girls running about. The oldest is chairperson of some Virtuous Ladies’ Society or some such nonsense.”

Duncan arched an eyebrow. “So, she’s not just a self-proclaimed
virtuous young lady, but rather an
official
virtuous young lady? Sounds thrilling.”

Richard laughed. “Yes, those London girls have never been your cup of tea. You’ve always preferred a merry widow, an actress, or the bed of a more experienced married woman to the girls the mama’s try to sell at market.”

“
Never
a married woman.” Duncan was annoyed at his avoidance of the subject at hand. Richard grew quiet. The bloated silence in the room filled with the memory of Duncan’s parents’ infidelities. He quickly changed the subject. “Now why did you ask me to return?”

“I’m dying.”

So much for polite conversation
.

Duncan felt as if the rug had just been pulled out from under him. “Would you care to repeat that?”

“I’m sick. Tired, actually. But the physicians tell me it’s one in the same. They say my heart is not quite strong enough and I won’t make it through summer.”

Duncan’s head whirled. He had just lost his brother-Uncle Richard was the only family he had left.

“I know you didn’t want to become Earl. You’ve never been invested like your brother in continuing the family legacy. It was his fate, not yours.” Richard took a moment to gather his strength, obviously becoming over-tired from all the emotion.

“There was a time that I thought I would get married, but I kept putting it off till the years passed and I remained a bachelor.” He chuckled. “Ironically, despite all my past indiscretions, I’m left with not even a bastard to call my own. Now, it’s all on your shoulders, as reluctant as they might be.”

Duncan dipped his head and ran his hands through his hair. “I’m not unwilling.” He realized after the words were said that they hardly sounded believable. “I’m not deliriously happy about the chain of events, either. You forget-I didn’t leave London by choice.”

“What was your father to do?” Richard asked. “You were out of control. How many thousands of pounds did he spend trying to right your wrongs? Even with you in the country, the stories of your exploits still found their way to my ears.”

“Is this why you brought me here? To lecture me about how I’ve chosen to lead my life?” Duncan let his head roll back, frustrated by the all-too-familiar direction the discussion was taking when there was obviously more critical dialogue to be had.

“In a way, yes. I need you to become respectable. Your brother worked diligently ‘til the day he died to rebuild the reputation that your parents squandered. And there’s the matter of fortune. Your father and mother misspent much of it. Jason tried to rebuild what he could, but he just didn’t have enough time. Without proper action, society will soon find out how poor we’ve become.”